


Truth be told

by WitchesBrew



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchesBrew/pseuds/WitchesBrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know how it is to have your morning ruined by foolish, irritating, trivial disturbances.<br/>Here is how it happens at the Bolton's.</p><p>This is also a gift for my cherished Thramsay writer, Nanjcsy. Hopefully you'll like it ;D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth be told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanjcsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/gifts).



_‘Pleasure can be based on illusion,_  

_but happiness is founded on truth.'_

                                            - Nicolas Chamfort

 

It was a rather beautiful morning. The sun's warm glow and the birds’s cheerful twittering was, however, a stark contrast to the vision played out in front of him inside. The kitchen looked like a battlefield. What should have been a quiet evening of soccer and gaming with the boys had turned into a frenzied crusade against the bottles in Dad’s bar cabinet. 

He grieved at the sight of pizza boxes, beer cans, broken bottles and crisps scattered everywhere. The boys hadn’t even taken their time opening some of the bottles, but had simply broken the bottleneck in order to get to the sweet salvation inside as quick as possible.

' _The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him'_. He snorted. Right.

The mess was surely not going to make his mood any better, but he did not bother to tidy up. After all it was not his job. He sat down at the kitchen table and pushed a half torn pizza box and an unfinished canned beer aside, to make room for the newspaper and his morning coffee. As much as he was used to noise and turbulence around him, he enjoyed mornings like these, where the house was completely still.

However, as expected, the enjoyable silence was soon broken by a gentle creak of a door upstairs. From the corner of his eye, he could see a shabby figure appearing at the top of the stairs. The figure clung to the banister and seemed to be struggling for every step. It hadn’t even inconvenienced itself, or may not have had the strength, to put on a pair of pants. The dirty shirt hung slackly on the slumped figure.

As the cripple finally reached the bottom of the stairs and moved towards the dining table, a foul smell came towards him like a rhino, brutal and merciless. Wrinkling his nose he continued reading the newspaper, as if he was still alone in the room. He hadn’t really expected Mother Fortune to spare him of interruptions and allow him to enjoy this morning by himself, but still he was more annoyed by someone's presence now than he had imagined. Although the fragile creature could barely walk upright and tried to find support by leaning against the wall as it moved towards the kitchen in silence, it still managed to annoy and anger him. What troubles wasn’t waiting inside that sick, weak mind? Was it really that difficult to just behave?

Now and again he would search those bright eyes for answers as to what kind of war was going on inside that half-being's head. It was clearly a war it wasn’t winning. Also, why would anyone ever allow this miserable life for oneself? He never seemed to find an answer to these questions though. All he got was a mix of confusion and tease. It was the teasing glints in those pale, shiny eyes that annoyed him the most. It seemed like the creature was in a constant search of new ways to annoy an upset him. Even now, as the look was more frightened and befuddled than usual, the teasing was still there. The puny creature demanded attention and would make the most desperate attempts to get it.

He couldn’t imagine that this morning would be any different and he had to resist the urge to reprimand the creature in advance. He wanted so bad to throw his scalding coffee in that stupid face, tackle the cripple to the ground and take it right there on the floor. Hear it scream, swear and finally beg. It would be a waste of good coffee though.

Truth be told, he was way to merciful to this creature and he hated himself for it. It had to do with the fact that he didn’t always feel this disgusted and annoyed by it. What made him hate himself even more was the feeling of concern, sometimes even a slight kind of love, for this creature, that he couldn’t seem to abstract from. The bad manners and troublemaking behavior gave him a strange kind of satisfaction, and not only because it allowed him to chide or punish. It meant something else to him, gave him some kind of self-gratification he wouldn’t experience at any other occasions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a crash as the creature on its way to the fridge lost balance, smashed its forehead against the handle and with a grunt of agony landed in a sticky puddle of whisky and crisps on the kitchen floor. Silly fool. For a second he almost felt sorry for it, or at least that was until the cripple opened its mouth and yelled in that terribly commanding, pitiful voice: ”REEK!! Where the fuck are you!?!”

Domeric shifted his attention from the newspaper to the top of the stairs, where a fragile, frightened boy, that had once been Theon Greyjoy, appeared in the doorway to Ramsay’s bedroom. He watched as the boy hasted down the stairs as fast as his mangled feet would take him, eager to help his drunken bastard brother back on his feet.


End file.
